Vacation Therapy (18 page)

"I'm fine. Could you get me a drink?"

"Alcohol isn't—"

"Water's fine."

I walked into the bathroom and poured him a glass of water. “It's not cold, but I could get you some ice,” I said, but didn't think he should be left alone.

He reached up and took the glass. “That's fine,” he said, sipping from it.

"Are you dizzy?” I asked.

"What blond isn't?"

"You know what I mean. Are you nauseous or having any chest pains?” I reached over and picked up his wrist. His skin was cool to the touch, but not clammy. My index and middle finger searched for a pulse and found one, a bit rapid, but strong. Conflicting symptoms, but that could be shock.

"I'm fine,” he said, “just a little shook up. I've never seen a dead body before, that is, until I met you."

"Gee, thanks.” His wit was coming back, so I started to relax a bit. Now, maybe I could look for the machete. I walked around the room, looked under the beds, under the dresser and in the closet.

"What are you looking for? Another snake?” Sergio asked, with his head between his knees and the blanket pulled over his head. The tremors looked like they were lessening.

"Do you remember where you put your machete?"

Nothing came from under the blanket.

I watched as it rose and fell, so I knew he was breathing. Finally, he asked, “Did you pick it up from the hallway? I don't remember bringing it back from Gary's room. Did you take it?"

"What machete?” Geoff asked from behind me.

"Shit,” I said, spinning around to face him. “You scared me."

"John called. Is he dead?” Geoff pointed to Sergio's form underneath the blanket.

"No. Not him. That's just Sergio. He's alive, more or less.” He probably wished he was dead right now, I mused. “Gary's down the hall in his room. John's standing watch."

Just as Geoff turned around, John approached. “I heard your voice, so I thought I'd better come and bring you to the right room. I told you the wrong one on the phone."

"Don't you know where you're at?” Geoff shook his head and followed John down the hall. He turned to me. “Don't you be leaving, mon. I may be needing to talk to you later."

"I'll be here.” Where else could I go?

After John and Geoff disappeared down the hallway, I finished searching our room.

We sat facing each other on our beds. Neither one of us could recall seeing the machete after Sergio hit Gary with it. The machete was gone. Someone at this resort had taken and used it on Gary, and our fingerprints were all over it.

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"I think someone is trying to set us up for Gary's murder,” Sergio said. He sat up in bed and emerged from under the blanket. Before I could respond, he continued, “Think about it. The machete I used on Gary, when he was grabbing you, disappeared. Do you think that was a coincidence?” He took a deep breath. “I don't. My fingerprints were all over that thing.” His eyes squinted. “And if a speck of Gary's blood or hair is found on it.” His eyes widened. “Then what? I'll be sent to the electric chair. BZZZT! BZZZT!” His arms extended as his body convulsed under the blanket. “And Duane was killed with my scissors."

"Geoff said they didn't have the capabilities to match fingerprints, so I doubt he can find yours, let alone match Gary's hair and blood samples. We're in Mexico. He said they couldn't do anything with the Nike bag we found, so we'll be home months before they get any of the evidence back."

"So, are you counting on your luck or mine?” Sergio looked around our room. “If this is one of their deluxe hotels, can you imagine what their jails are like?"

"Don't even think about that. We need to figure out why these things are happening to us. Do we know something, or did we see something that we shouldn't have? That's the only thing I can figure out to explain what's been going on. Unless you have another idea?"

"Maybe we have something they want,” he offered.

Then I remembered. “The notebook."

"What notebook?” John asked from the doorway.

"I think I lost my notebook on the beach today. You didn't find one, did you?” I stood up, pushing Gary's book deeper into my back pocket. I walked over to the dresser and searched my tote bag. “Nope, it's not in there."

John remained silent, but flipped his long hair back.

"Is there a lost and found here at the resort?” Sergio asked.

John looked from Sergio to me and back again before answering. “It's down at the front desk."

"Thanks.” Sergio turned to me. “Taylor, maybe we should go check it out. Now.” He threw off the blanket and stood up, coming to stand next to me.

"Wait,” John ordered.

We're in for it now, I thought.

"Before you guys go anywhere, we need to talk.” John stepped into our room and closed the door.

I checked to make sure the notebook was still in my pocket. What about his towel? Did Sergio put it away carefully or was it discarded in a heap?

John leaned his back against the door. He motioned with his head down the hall. “It's about Gary."

"Yes,” we said, in unison, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"Geoff asked me to tell you to keep Gary's death under wraps. I know Mike talked to you before about Duane Wayne's murder. So please don't say anything to the other guests. I don't want to start a panic. We really don't know very much, so for right now, don't mention it. Don't even talk about it to each other, okay?"

"I guess that'll be all right.” I turned to Sergio.

He nodded. “It's nothing I want to brag about. It sure gives me the creeps. I don't want to be walking around here alone at night. That's for sure."

"I think that's a good idea, for you guys to use the buddy system and stick together."

"We'll be joined at the hips.” Sergio said.

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Sergio led the way back to our room. My mind raced in many directions as we walked around the pool. Too many strange events had happened since we arrived at this place. If Molly had only known what she was sending me into. So much for rest and relaxation. In two days, there had been two murders, two snakes, and two days of mashed potatoes and hard rolls. What did they say about things happening in threes?

The four Pepsis I drank at the bar had worked their way through my system. The cool night breeze, along with the soft, constant sound of water flowing from the pool made my walking very uncomfortable. As we neared the men's restroom, I paused. “Sergio, I need to make a quick pit stop."

I entered the restroom. My face was wind blown and pink from the sun, or so the mirrors above the sinks reflected. My feet echoed across the tile floor as water dripped in the urinals. Great plumbing. At least they were beyond the outhouse. Three empty urinals stood in a row. I headed for the first one, the one closest to the door.

I stood facing the wall at the urinal, when a soft rustling entered the restroom. I heard footsteps tapping into the room, and they stopped at the urinal right next to me. Was Sergio trying to be funny? Didn't he know the rules of the urinals? Never use the one next to a guy, unless there is a line and no other choice. Then an uncomfortable feeling of being watched came over me, like a pair of eyes boring into my neck. Didn't he know rule number two? Eyes straight ahead? I glanced to the side, breaking rule two and saw a red, yellow, and green Carmen Miranda standing next to me.

Had I walked into the wrong bathroom? I thought it said “Men” on the door. Had I missed the “W-O"? I swallowed hard and looked at my reflection in the pipes of the urinal.

A urinal.

She was using a urinal. I closed my eyes. Why was I here?

I zipped quickly and turned the other way to avoid eye contact.

"What we women don't do to make ourselves look wonderful for men,” she said.

I continued to the sink and looked into its depths, not the mirrors. A rustling of fabric told me I was being followed. He was following me, or should I say she? The water splashed over my hands. Why had I stopped to wash my hands? Why didn't I just bolt for our room? Habits from the hospital were so hard to break. I looked into the mirror and tried to maintain eye contact with my reflection, but the vibrant colors of the dress drew my eyes to her.

"Am I straight?” she asked.

"Excuse me?"

She grabbed her bodice and pulled it away from her chest, jiggling her bosom up and down. “There. How's that?” She pressed out her chest for my inspection.

My eyes went to her cleavage and noticed the right one was a tad bit higher. Pointing to it, I said, “That one's a little higher."

She glanced into the mirror and pushed it down. “How's that?” She rocked them from side to side.

"Perfect.” I turned off the water, gave her the thumbs up, and reached over to wipe my hands on a paper towel.

"Thanks, sweetheart.” She followed me, black wig towering over her head.

Sergio stood outside waiting. He peered around and blanched when he saw whom I had in tow. “Now who did you pick up? I can't leave you alone for a minute."

She pushed past me and extended her hand like royalty in a PBS mini-series. “Let me introduce myself. I'm Cha-Cha.” Her sculpted nails glistened red in the light.

Sergio took her hand and tried to shake it.

Cha-Cha firmly kept her hand palm down. “You're supposed to kiss the hand of aristocracy, dear."

Sergio was tired and not in the mood to play along. “When I meet one, then I will.” He pulled his hand away from hers.

A cold sneer sliced across her mouth. “You will bow in my presence and call me Queen Bee."

"And we all know what the ‘B’ stands for.” Sergio turned and headed toward the stairs, not waiting to see if I followed.

Cha-Cha's eyes narrowed at his back.

"Sorry. He's had a rough day. We've both had a bad day, and we're tired. Don't take it personally.” I nodded down low, almost bowing to her, and hurried after Sergio.

"Not as sorry as he's going to be,” she said, and stamped her foot, punctuating the point. “I will not be ignored."

"Great. Just what we need, a drag queen on the rampage,” I mumbled to myself. Rounding the second flight of stairs, I rubbed my forehead and almost bumped into Sergio.

"Do you have a headache?” he asked, but he didn't sound concerned.

"Nah, I'm just tired."

"Well, if you would stop talking to everyone at this resort, you may find some time to rest.” And he continued up the stairs.

"But... but...” Now what had I done? I hurried to catch up.

Sergio stood by our room door and looked off into the night sky. “Don't those clouds look like something's brewing?"

Looking into the black night, I saw nothing. “It must be all the humidity in the air.” As I reached into my pocket, Sergio pulled out his room key and inserted it into the lock.

When the door shut, Sergio turned and asked, “What do you think we'll find in Gary's notebook?"

With all the excitement, I had forgotten about it. Sitting down on Sergio's bed, I pulled out the slim black book. It looked like a leather-bound checkbook. Opening it, I saw it needed to be turned on its side like a regular book. A calendar's week covered each sheet, two weeks printed side by side.

The last pages were lined and blank. Neatly inserted in the back cover's plastic pocket were computer printouts. They appeared to be lists of the room numbers and guests. Flipping to the fourth floor list, I saw:

415 John Dahl

416 Logan Zachary

417 Taylor Kozlowski

Sergio Wyzlic

418 Duane Wayne

419 David Ferron

David Campbell

420 Gary Morgan

"Isn't that strange?” I turned the book so Sergio could see. “Everyone that we've been running around with has a room on the same floor."

He took the list from me and scanned it. “Where's Tom's room?"

Flipping to the previous sheet, I found his name next to room number 413 and pointed to it.

"So why are all the guys we're hanging out with all on the same floor? Do you think that's a coincidence?” Sergio asked.

"I was wondering the same thing myself."

"Did someone set up these room assignments for a special purpose, or did they just happen to fall that way? Is there a date on the room assignments?” Sergio scanned the lists for a date, but found none. “No date. That would've shown us if they had planned our rooms before we arrived or typed them in afterward."

"I didn't know you were going to be here, so I didn't put your name down as my roommate.” My eyes narrowed. “Did you know I was going to be here? Did Molly and you plan...?"

"I didn't know you were coming, honest. I was hoping to hang back and get stuck in a room by myself. I couldn't afford the single supplement to guarantee a private room."

"Neither could I, but then I didn't know I was going to be staying at Club Fred."

"You say that with disgust. Is there a problem with this resort?” He flopped back on his bed and stared at the ceiling. Suddenly, he sat bolt upright and pointed to the top of the dresser.

My eyes scanned the surface. My tote bag sat neatly folded next to the television. Two paperbacks and a key. A resort room key. Turning to Sergio, I asked. “Whose key is that?” I could feel mine digging into my leg, and I distinctly remembered him pulling out his key and putting it back into his pocket.

"That's my key on the dresser,” he said, digging into his pocket. “This key is..."

"Gary's,” we said together.

"But why did it open our door?” He looked at the number 420.

I fished out my key and handed it to Sergio. He lined them up and held them to the light. A perfect match. “Why did Gary have a key to our room?” I asked.

"But I opened Gary's room with this one.” Sergio jumped up and raced to our door. Pulling it open, he tried the key in our lock, and it worked. Hurrying down the hallway to 416, Logan's room, Sergio inserted it again.

"He might be in there,” I said.

But there was no stopping Sergio. The lock's tumblers clicked open. We could get into Logan's room if we wanted.